


Greyscale Wardens

by Maybethings



Series: May Be Promptin' [21]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-06
Updated: 2011-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maybethings/pseuds/Maybethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Generated prompt. Sten/Finn, modern AU. Grey Warden Comics from Weisshaupt Press! TW for one instance of transphobic language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greyscale Wardens

"...And in that moment, the Warden sweeps up a broadsword." Finn's hand swept across the storyboard, his voice rising dramatically. "And to save all of Ferelden, she plunges the sword into the dragon's heart!"

The whole team stared at him as if he had started shooting lightning from his fingertips. Then Uldred cleared his throat.

"No. Not buying it."

"But sir, why?" Finn ferociously bit down the traitorous squeak in his voice. "That's what the Warden would do! In fact, that's what _any_  Warden would do!"

He shook his head at his junior writer's presumptuousness. "Wardens are men, for starters--"

"Elissa Cousland was not a man!" Finn retorted before he could check himself. "Neither was Ulia Amell, or Two-Fingers Brosca!"

"Cousland and Amell were healers, not fighters, and Two-Fingers was a freaking tranny," he smirked. "Freaks and single men do not win a revolution, pup. _People_  do. Armies do. Ferelden bows to the Warden because he makes them do it."

And he--oh, Maker, they were all giving him that look. The Look. The one that said 'we all know you are here because you are our investor's son, and and if we did not need your father's coin we would boot you out on your skinny little arse'. He tried very hard not to betray any emotion, but succeeded only in making his face compress into sharp, thin lines. Damn Weisshaupt's notions about how the Warden had to be for men alone, how it wasn't worth a story if it didn't shift merchandise somehow. He was so convinced he knew better than the men who had brought the first Warden to life on paper; the ones who had steered him onto this very path. But he bowed his head, because he needed to pay his rent and insurance and he  _needed_ the work experience to leave, and if he had to bow and scrape and lick boots for it, he would have to.

"Very well, Mr. Uldred. I'm sorry for the trouble. Of course I'll rewrite it."

"Do that. If you must indulge this foolish notion of a female Warden, at least have the decency to show some skin. Give her one of them elvhen bikinis. Titillate the audience."

"Of course, sir." Every word was like a bolt of ice right to his heart. Poor Tara Aeducan. She would never get her story told at this rate.

They talked of other things, and then broke off to go back to work. Finn slunk over to the whiteboard and started unsticking pages from the board, head low and shoulders pinched together. He was a failure. Everything about him was a failure. Perhaps he should just go home and run the family business like Father wanted him to--

"You drew this, boy?" Finn turned at the stern voice addressing him. Looking at one of his panels was-- **MAKER PRESERVE**. Looking at one of his panels was _the_ Sten Quentin, all six-foot-ten of him and his brown jacket and his white, white cornrows and his goddamn arresting eyes, some biologically implausible shade of purple. Had he been here all along? Oh Maker. That meant he'd seen him get a dressing down from Uldred, too. Brilliant. The last person he would have wanted to make a bad impression on, and here he was.

But if Sten and his epic _Wardens: Tea and Incense_ had taught a young Finn one thing, it was that courage was action in the face of fear. And he would be courageous now.

"I--I did, sir. Mr. Quentin, sir."

"Sten is sufficient. These are...serviceable." He quirked an eyebrow, as if surprised. "You feel for the Wardens. It shows in your hand." He ran large, calloused fingers across the pictures and Finn inexplicably imagined those large, strong hands doing the same to his thighs and ass. He swallowed.

"The Wardens...saved me, ser." He paused to gauge Sten's reaction. There was none. He added, "I really want to give them good stories, true ones. Stories that speak of the Wardens as people _and_ heroes. B-because I think that's where their strength lies," he babbled as he unpinned the last of his work and prepared to leave, or run or fly or be swallowed up. Anything other than making a fool of himself before one of his heroes!

"For what it's worth, I liked your idea. It showed the Warden's honour, and there is precious little of that nowadays." He sounded almost wistful. "One day, perhaps, we will have such things again."

Finn nodded, dry-mouthed, and watched Sten leave. He unpinned the last of his pages, gazed at them, and strode back to his desk with purpose restored. He would honor the Wardens. He would get better at his job, even if he had to play their game by their rules. He would bend them bit by bit.

And when he did, he knew he would have Sten on his side.


End file.
